


Wrath

by PeacefulProcrastination



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Eye Injury, Gore, Swearing, Torture, seriously this is outlast guys, trager being trager, well guys this is on a hiatus B/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulProcrastination/pseuds/PeacefulProcrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just you wait, buddy.</p><p>Just you fuckin' wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes hello people this is my first outlast fanfic so bear with me here. 
> 
> this is also my first time publishing on ao3 so yeah
> 
> also i don't know the layout of the asylum that well, so some things may be out of place.
> 
> i decided to write about trager (and miles) because trager needs more love in the fandom.
> 
> okay yeah so i hope you guys like it!

_What the fuck?_

My eyes fluttered open, and an intense slap of pain hit my abdomen and back.

_Holy shit!_

I suddenly shot up into a sitting position and coughed. Blood and spit sputtered from my lips and my eyes watered. My hands scratched at my throat as I struggled to breathe.

What the  _fuck_  happened to me?

I staggered onto my feet and glanced down. A small pool of blood had formed around the area my middle section had been. I could still feel it trickling down my chest and back.

Then I remembered.

An overwhelming sense of rage overtook me, and I clenched my fists as tight as I could.

"That son of a bitch!" I growled, gritting my teeth.

My _buddy._

Oh, I'd fuckin' get him. He'd pay.

I would make sure of that.

And when I was finished with that little shit, he'd be begging for me to kill 'em.

_...But first..._

I took another glance down at my chest. A long, horizontal gash decorated it and blood still seeped from the deepest areas. I could tell a few of my bones had to have been cracked.

How the fuck was I even standing?

Breathing?

That elevator had crushed my goddamn ribs!  _My organs!_

How the hell was I even  _alive?_

What I hadn't know at that point was that the Walrider had been watching this outburst of mine, and had followed me upstairs where I had patched myself up. I cleaned up the gash on my chest and stitched it back together with minimal pain.

The bandages rubbed against my skin, but at least I'd heal within time.

I could feel the Walrider's eyes on me; I just hadn't known where he was watching me from. I scanned the area I was currently in, and found nothing out of place.

Damn.

I slept uneasily for five hours. My mind was still conjuring up ways to murder the kid with the camera.

* * *

I had a dream that I had jammed my shears into his right leg as I was chasing him.

While he shrieked, fell, and grabbed his leg, I'd beaten him senseless and dragged him away.

When the man had awoke, he was greeted with a scalpel to the eye and a punch to the cheek.

The metallic scent of blood reached my nose almost immediately, and I reveled in it.

"You son of a  _bitch!"_  He screamed, and I covered his mouth with my hand. The little fucker bit my hand, and I slapped him right across the jaw.

I grabbed another scalpel from my tray and jabbed his injured eye again so roughly that I cut the side of my hand with the blade.

That didn't stop me, though. I pulled the scalpel out (not before twisting it around his socket just for the hell of it) with a sick "pop" and stepped back to admire the work I had done so far.

Blood mixed with tears seeped from both of his green eyes (well, one of them was hanging from the socket now), and he was breathing uncontrollably.

"F...fuck... you..." He groaned, and his uninjured eye closed.

He was going to fuckin'  _quit_  on me!

I rushed back over to him and tore his injured eye from the socket. He screamed and squirmed in the wheelchair.

He turned his head to the right to cover his uninjured eye with his shoulder as I picked up my bone shears from the bloody urinal.

"C'mon buddy, don't make this more difficult than it has to be." I taunted him, pulling his head away from his shoulder.

I left my hand on his cheek (mostly to make him feel uncomfortable) and he threw me a disgusted look. I shrugged and raised my favorite tool.

His eye widened when he saw the gargantuan pair of shears I held in my hands.

Leaning down to his ear, I smirked.

"As much as I'd love to kill you now, buddy, there's still a lot for me to do." I whispered, and a harsh shiver did a number on the kid's body.

I kept my face close to his ear, enjoying his trembling, as I blindly picked up his shaking right hand. I wedged a few of his fingers between the shears and pushed down with a sickening crunch.

His scream was so loud that it made a few of my other "patients" scream and cry, too.

I cut off a couple more of his fingers to accompany the two I had removed the last time he was in this wheelchair. He sobbed when I let go of his hands. He only had his right ring and left index fingers left.

I smirked when he turned his head to vomit.

After giving him a few minutes to recover, I roughly tugged out a few of his teeth.

He spat blood at me and I pointed to his other eye.

"You spit on me  _one more time,_  buddy, and I'll make sure you're blind  _for life!"_  That shut him up to mere whimpers.

The teeth went into a separate container, soon to be up for sale as well.

His blood had splattered my surgical mask and chest. I grinned underneath it. It was,  _refreshing, t_ o say the least.

His screams were worth every ounce of effort I'd put into making his time with me complete hell.

The dream wasn't as satisfying as it should've been, though.

* * *

When I awoke, I was furious. The first thing I did was grab a glass jar and hurl it at the wall.

As it shattered into a million pieces, I stared down at my trembling hands.

I needed to get a hold of myself for fuck's sake.

Grabbing a rusty bonesaw on my left, I decided to "release" a few patients. To take care of the stress. I'd be putting them out of their misery, honestly.

* * *

After the screams died out, I limped around my territory, searching for a new weapon.

A terrifying weapon. It had to make cutting through flesh and bone both simple and precise.

I needed my bone shears.

There was no way in hell I'd ever find that wonder of a tool again, right?

_Wait._

I noticed a metallic glint in the corner of my eye and turned to the elevator.

There my beloved bone shears were, just barely sticking out of the gap between the elevator and the floor I was currently on.

Without a thought, I hobbled over to the elevator and pried my shears free.

Holding them up in the light, I smirked.

Just you wait, buddy.

Just you fuckin' wait.

A cackle left my lips, and I threw my head back. My chest hurt like hell, but at that point I didn't care.

The only thing I cared about now was revenge.

I'm certain everybody in this entire god damned asylum heard my laughter.

I know they did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright guys here's the second chapter! i had this and the next chapter pre-written because it's a really good method and stuff
> 
> also my birthday is tomorrow so yeah B)

 

Holy fucking shit. My fingers were  _killing_  me.

Well, my stumps, to be exact.

That bastard, Trager, at least, was dead. I got one of my wishes granted.

There was  _no way_  in hell I'd ever get my fingers back, so I might as well get used to missing a few.

I pulled out my notepad and a blue mechanical pencil. I thought back to the bowl of fingers I had recorded about five minutes ago.

_I've said it before, but fuck this place. I've still got those fingers left._

_-Miles Upshur_

Blood dripped onto the notepad, and a few of my notes slid out and landed on the dirty floor.

I pushed a bit too hard on my hand in an attempt to finish writing, and...

 _Fuck!_  That hurt!

I dropped the pencil and unthinkingly popped the stump of my right index finger into my mouth.

The metallic taste of blood overtook my senses, causing me to yelp. I pulled my hand out and spat blood onto the floor in front of my feet.

I bent over and grabbed my pencil before a wave of nausea crashed into me and I violently whipped my head to the left. I vomited out what very little food remained in my stomach.

I stumbled backward and fell on my ass. My eyes began to water, and I scooted away from my vomit, sniffling.

What the  _fuck_  had I gotten myself into? Why the hell did I just waltz in without doing research on this place?

What about the whistleblower?

I assumed that they'd probably met a violent demise.

There's no way somebody could survive this.

My own chances were slim. I was living on luck, and it was running out. If I didn't get a break, I'd most definitely die.

The thought of the many ways I could meet my end was too much, and I weakly stood up, took a deep breath, and slowly left the room.

I had to keep moving. It wasn't safe where I was.

Nothing in this hellhole was safe. Even the vents weren't as safe as they had seemed.

I also couldn't trust anyone. The last time I trusted somebody, I lost two fingers.

I made a left and slowed down.

What the  _hell_  was that?

Chains rattled behind me, and I spun around to come almost face-to-face with the big fucker himself, Chris Walker.

"Little pig." He growled and his bloody hands reached for me.

I screamed and before I knew what was happening, I was already half-way down the blood-splattered hall I had been walking in.

Chris' breathing was hard and heavy; it felt like he was right behind me.

I darted to the right and (clumsily) vaulted over an overturned bed frame. I almost slipped over a pool of fresh blood.

Looking up in my panic, I noticed a hanging vent cover at the end of the hall.

I sped up as Chris slowed down. I made a running leap for the edge of the vent. I weakly held on. My fingers felt like they were about to snap.

I looked behind me and Chris was reaching for my leg. I kicked him in the face and pulled myself up and into the vent.

"Fuck!" He growled and ripped the hanging cover from the vent and tore it in half. He stormed away, mumbling about containment?

What the hell was he talking about?

I didn't feel like dwelling on it.

Scooting back in the vent, I tried to calm my breathing. I pulled my camera out and activated the night vision feature.

I peered down the vent and noticed a battery sitting near a pool of blood.

How did a battery get up here?

I crawled over to it and picked it up, placing it in my jacket pocket. I leaned against the wall of the vent and put my head on my knees.

I needed to rest. I could barely keep my eyes open. If I ran into another variant I'd be fucked.

It wasn't safe for me to sleep anywhere in this shit hole, but at least the vents were inaccessible to most. I'd be able to get a few hours to sleep before somebody noticed I was up here.

I hugged my knees to my chest and placed my camcorder to my right next to the blood.

Closing my eyes, I eventually drifted off.


End file.
